Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) (42 page)

    
Wolf looked at her for a long while, as though searching for something – Wynn felt nothing from Wolf and began to feel afraid, Wolf in herself did not know how to feel and Wolf always had an opinion, always felt
something
– then whispered, no louder than the rustle of leaves, “Something about you vexes me.”

    
Wynn started, for it was exactly what Medea had said before they left on their journey. What did it mean? Two Magus had both been vexed by Wynn’s very being, something inside her that was wrong and did not fit with the rest of her. It was Wynn’s turn to not know how to feel and she sat for a long moment filled with self pity. She did not feel the wind brushing her skin or blowing her hair, or hear the rustle of the beautiful trees that surrounded them.

    
“I am evil, aren’t I?” Wynn whimpered eventually.

    
Wolf laughed then, but the sound was not unkind and spoke softly as though aware of how important her words would be to Wynn’s sanity, “Why did you kill your Master?”

    
“He was about rape me...” Wynn choked and could not continue. She was surprised, she had thought herself past tears, and certainly thought her heart had become cold against the Master. She had not told anyone of the events that had occurred before the Master’s murder, it was hard to talk about, hard to even think. She was glad at this moment that Wolf could feel how desolate the memory made her feel, how dirty and wronged she had now become.
     

    
“Then it was self defence,” Wolf said forcefully, “you did not seek him out, and murder him in cold blood. You defended yourself. Every time you have killed it has been to protect those you love or yourself, how can you loath the power that helps you achieve that?
You fear the dark inside you but there cannot be darkness without light, you cannot distinguish between them without the other to show you.
Do you fear the night because it is dark? No you fear the night because it blinds your eyes and dulls your senses, but how can we be sure that the darkness is truly evil without a light to shine through it? Aerona lost her light many years ago. You are not evil. Never forget the past that brought you here.”

    
Wynn smiled then, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. She closed her eyes and with a sudden inspiration thought of a sunset, a time when both light and dark merge to form something of beauty. Wolf smiled and entered Wynn’s mind, sitting on the edge to watch. Wynn acknowledged her and continued to think of a sunset, watching the golden hues and the reds and pinks and amber colours merge with the thick blackness. Here she felt serene and at peace. She felt her heart slow and everything was forgotten save the beauty and peace she felt.

    
Wynn smiled, releasing her mind from the memory of her encounter with Wolf and looked at the man who she had fought. She did not explain her lesson to him; Wolf would have taught it to him if she felt him worthy. He smiled at her despite himself and she helped him up.

    
“A wise person once told me that there cannot be darkness without light,” Wynn said softly, and laughed gently at the man’s confusion, “you will understand one day,” and with that walked back to her tent to wash her face.

Arabella strode into Wynn’s tent a few days later and sat beside her, her hair was tied back and her cheeks were flushed, she wore her old clothes and a determined expression, “Wynn,” she said warily, “I feel we should move on from here, we still have a long journey ahead of us and we have lost precious time.”

    
Wynn nodded reluctantly, she felt it too, the pull of time, they had spent too long here. Quickly she changed out of her Manti outfit, placing it in her pack, and back into her torn trousers, shirt and jerkin that had been washed and repaired, but still retained their worn looks. As she changed she could not help but feel sad that she was leaving. They had been in the camp for two weeks and she had grown to love Wolf like a sister. Leaving this safe and friendly tribe would be hard, knowing what she was leaving for. Wynn found Wolf outside talking to Arabella; they were deep in discussion and did not notice her walk over to them.

    
“Arabella tells me you wish to leave?” Wolf said slowly to Wynn.

    
Wynn nodded sadly and felt a stab in her stomach as Wolf’s eyes clouded over with tears. She wished she could stay in the tribe’s company forever, but a different destiny pulled her and she could not knowingly stay while so much was at stake.

    
“Do not think it is because we do not enjoy your company,” Wynn said hurriedly, “we left to find Berhandril and it is a journey that we must complete. If I had a choice I would stay here with you forever.”

    
“And I,” Arabella agreed, “your people are like a variation of the Gypsy race that was my family and you have awoken and reminded me of my heritage. I thank you for that.”

    
Wolf nodded, attempting to bite back tears. Wynn was glad then, as she had found cause to feel before, that she could feel Wolf’s emotions for they said the words she struggled to say and reaffirmed that they had made a lifelong friend in the tribe’s leader. Wordlessly Wolf led them through the camp, her people waved goodbye to them solemnly. Wynn drank in the sight of the camp, knowing it would be some time before she came here again, if ever. They stopped before an unremarkable patch of forest, bordering the camp.

    
“Take this route,” Wolf whispered, “The path is marked by crossed branches, follow it and you will be safe from Her creatures. There is an ancient magic here that will protect you.”

    
Arabella, Wolf and Wynn stared at each other silently, letting their emotions wash over each other, unable to speak them through their sadness. They became saturated with each other’s love and sadness and the friendship they shared. As always, when emotion got too great Arabella was the first to look away, and with a wave walked through into the forest.

    
“We will meet again,” Wynn said forcefully, determined that even if Lady Fate herself stood in her way she would see Wolf and her tribe again. Wolf bowed her head and Wynn walked hurriedly after Arabella, too afraid to turn around and see the tears fall freely down Wolf’s face.

10

The Seminary of Berhandril lay thirty feet ahead of them and stretched for miles along the grounds. It clearly had once been a proud castle but now lay in ruins. The outer wall which surrounded the massive structure was derelict, the mortar and stone cracked and worn from the elements. The arrow loops –
narrow vertical slits cut into a wall through which arrows could be fired from inside the castle –
were boarded up inside the barbican. The barbican – a defensive structure – was latched onto the outer wall and supported the
portcullis – a strong grating made of iron, which allowed or refused entry to the castle. Behind the outer wall stood the actual castle, look out posts had crumbled and it seemed that there was nothing intact in the whole structure. It was overall an uninspiring sight.
The forest continued around the castle, forming a complete protective circle.

    
The night sky was streaked with lightening and the rain poured down on them like a waterfall. Drops fell from the leaves and the canopy did nothing to protect from the rain. Wynn and Arabella stood there for some time, looking at the ruins, standing on the edge of the forest. They had left the safety of Wolf’s camp two weeks ago only to reach this, an abandoned, derelict castle.
    
 

    
“What now?” Arabella asked Wynn. The rain poured down her face and plastered her hair to her head.
   

    
“I think we should try to go inside,” Wynn answered back eventually, raising her voice to be heard over the thunder, “it could be an illusion. Medea would not send us here knowing there were only ruins.”

    
They jumped slightly on the balls of their feet to warm themselves. The heavens showed no sign of relenting and they were completely soaked through to their undergarments. They both stared at the castle for a moment longer, loathed to leave the protection of the dark forest which had been their home for over a month. During the two weeks they had practised their combat and Arabella, safe in the knowledge that Wynn was strong enough to control her magic, taught her some basics. How to create a light, heal a wound, shield herself and surround herself with magic. Wynn knew she would need those simple skills very soon.

    
Eventually they both nodded, as though agreeing with themselves and ran, half crouching towards the castle, over the swampy grounds, stopping at the drawbridge. The moat was overflowing, debris and – Wynn shuddered – remains of dead animals had been raised from the moat floor and deposited onto the bank. They crossed the lowered drawbridge and stopped. The portcullis was made of crossed iron and allowed through the square holes an insight into the castle grounds. They could see ahead of them a large fortified wooden door, which led into the castle. The castle walls reached over forty feet high, the courtyard between where they stood and the castle door was full of broken armour, swords and bows, as though a siege had destroyed all defences the castle once had. In the brief flashes of light from the lightning they could see stables to the right of the outer wall, and to the left smaller, but in equal disrepair, buildings.

    
“What do we do?” Wynn screamed over the storm, brushing her sopping hair from her face and pulling at her clothes as they clung to her shaking frame. Arabella looked her, with a glint in her eye and Wynn knew she was going to climb up the grating, over the barbican that housed it and drop down into the courtyard. Arabella stretched her arms and legs, shouldering her pack and tightening the straps, before beginning to climb. Wynn watched her reach the top of the grating, before reaching up, her only support her own legs in the holes of the grating, and hold onto the ledge of the barbican. From there she pulled herself up and over until she was out of sight. Wynn watched the castle through the grating, trying to sense anyone near who would threaten them but she could feel no one. She listened out and heard a thump as Arabella jumped from the building and onto the ground of the courtyard, cushioning the blow with magic. She turned around, her smile triumphant and waved Wynn over.

    
Taking a deep breath Wynn began to climb, her hands and boots slipping occasionally on the soaking iron grate. It was hard work and she was glad for the moment that the rain washed her continuously, cooling her down. She reached the top of the grating and reached up, grasping the stone with claw like fingers, and pulled herself onto the roof of the barbican. The roof was covered in moss and she stepped across it cautiously, the way lit only with the brief flashes of light from the lightning. When she reached the edge she jumped, surrounding herself with magic so that she landed softly against the stone courtyard floor.

    
Arabella smiled her encouragement and they made their way up to the castle door. It was easily twenty feet high with thick metal nails hammered into it in vertical lines to reinforce it. Wynn pressed her palm up to the rough wood, searching. She could feel something, deep inside the castle which matched her understanding of human life. She concentrated, ignoring the claps of thunder which sounded overhead and the constant pour of rain. There were people inside, she was certain, many, many people.

    
“What do we do now?” Arabella shouted. Wynn shrugged and slowly took her palm away from the wood. She tried banging on the door but she knew it was futile; her small fists were not even larger that the nails hammered to the door. She pressed both palms to the wood to support her and lowered her head and closed her eyes, allowing herself to think. She could feel her legs shaking with exhaustion and the cold, the rain soaking them both to their very bones. After a moment of recovery Wynn had a plan. She dug into her stores of magic and sent a vibration through the door and deep into the castle, repeating it twice before stepping back. At least I’m clean, Wynn thought sardonically as the rain continued to shower them.

    
Suddenly a loud cracking sounded before them and the door slowly opened to reveal a man, with a mop of brown hair standing in the doorway. He was silhouetted in golden candlelight, his face bewildered. He raised his eyebrow at them in more of a question than a judgement.

    
“I am sorry but we are not an inn,” he said – after all three of them stared at each other for a moment – not unkindly, but not welcomingly either. Wynn almost wanted to laugh; he had no idea that they had travelled for nearly three months to reach here, what depended on them gaining acceptance into this ruin, what they had battled to make it here. He went to close the door but Arabella stepped forward into the doorway, blocking his way.

    
“We are not looking for accommodation,” she smiled disconcertingly, “may we come in?” She walked in boldly anyway and begun to wring her hair, a puddle of water forming around her on the floor. The man stared at them both for a moment, his expression completely surprised, before motioning for Wynn to enter also, closing the door behind them. Wynn stepped in, grateful to be out of the storm, and immediately felt embarrassed at her appearance, for all its ruins the inside of the castle was lavish and very well looked after. Tapestries hung elegantly from every wall, clearly hundreds of years old. Candles of all sizes lined the walls and the whole place was lit richly with the golden light. Where the walls had crumbled, they had been repaired, with – Wynn could smell it and feel it humming through her – magic. Its appearance was deceptive; the walls were stronger than if they had been made completely out of stone by the magic. She tried not to gawp, and to walk with as much grace as she could muster, but her hair was sopping, and her clothes created pools of water as she walked. Wynn glanced at Arabella and found her in the same state, trying to run her fingers through her hair and wringing her clothes. They looked like beggar girls. This is not the first impression I wanted to make, Wynn thought glumly, as she followed their unsought guide through winding corridors and past extravagant rooms.

    
They eventually stopped outside an unremarkable door at the end of a corridor, and the man turned to them. “What exactly is your business here?” He asked, his eyes scrutinising them. Wynn studied him back, realising with shock that she could feel nothing from him. He waited for an answer and clearly would not let them enter until they answered his question.

    
“We are –” Wynn began but Arabella shot her a warning glance and looked at the man sternly, unmoving.

    
“We have business with your leader,” she said curtly and refused to say anything more. Wynn felt Arabella concentrate furiously on the door in front of them so that nothing about her was revealed, Wynn did the same and saw the man realise he would get nothing more from them. He opened the door, ushering them into the room silently. Wynn and Arabella hesitantly stepped inside, scanning the room quickly for any danger. The space was large and had clearly once been the Great Hall, but now it was empty and shrouded in darkness. Wynn marvelled at the contrast compared to the rest of castle, the room was cold, lit only by moonlight which flooded through the gaps in the roof, and torches which lined the walls. Dark shadows marked the corners and in these shadows Wynn could feel three dozen people, watching them.

    
“Who are you?” A voice boomed from the darkness. Wynn jumped at the sudden noise; her carefully controlled emotions slipping to fear, but Arabella remained still, undeterred. Wynn felt a sudden rush of pride and jealousy that Arabella could remain calm in such a situation but carefully pulled herself back and hoped that she had managed to reveal nothing. Wynn and Arabella were at a clear disadvantage in this hall.

    
“I am Arabella of the Marisot Clan,” Arabella said back, her voice carrying importantly through the vast room, “beside me is Wynn Fillamenth, daughter of Healer Elina Fillamenth.”

    
Silence filled the room, an imposing, dangerous silence. A man then walked from the shadows, followed closely by a woman. He had a shaven head, tattoos covered his bare arms and his eyes were almost serpentine. The woman beside him had red curly hair which fell down her back. She wore a tight black dress, and golden bracelets adorned her wrists. Her eyes were large and black and she considered their shaking frames with unmasked contempt.

    
As they walked towards them Wynn was able to conclude that both, as well as the man that had shown them here, and the three dozen people in the shadows, had the same ability as Medea for hiding their emotions. She waited for the customary flood of feelings to wash over her but all she could sense was Arabella’s ambivalence beside her. The strangers would certainly be able to feel Arabella and Wynn’s thoughts and emotions clearly and if they were not careful could use it against them.

    
“My name is Irik,” the man said, his voice deep, “and this,” he put his arm around the woman and she giggled, “this is Nethali.” The woman began to kiss his neck lovingly and Wynn shuffled her feet awkwardly, unsure where to look. Not only was it awkward that they were witnessing such a tender and private moment between two people, but it was also strange because this was the first time Wynn had seen two people so evidently happy together. In Woodstone most of the women were forced into a relationship and ultimately marriage with the soldiers of the army. They were bitter, fearful pairings. She viewed the partnership curiously, unsure how it made her feel.

    
“We have spoken with Widow Medea and she has sent us to you...” Arabella began, undeterred, but instantly froze as Irik’s eyes went as cold and hard as stone. Nethali scowled and bared her teeth. It was a complete contrast to how they had been just a minute ago and Wynn wondered why the mention of Medea had transformed them so.

    
“You lie to us,” Irik hissed, his eyes wide with fury. Wynn opened her mouth to argue but the man waved his hand, infusing the action with magic. It happened too quickly for Wynn, she went flying into the wall opposite them, crashing into it, smashing her head against the stone and falling limply to the floor. Arabella caught his intent just in time, years of reading emotions and body language had taught her she was in the presence of a very powerful man in both magic and combat, she had flung up a shield, palms facing the man and protected herself just in time. When the magic passed she glanced back at Wynn, to ascertain she was alive then turned her gaze back to Irik.
 
 

    
Her eyes narrowed, “We do not lie,” she said frostily, her hands resting on her daggers, a clear warning that anyone could understand.
 

    
The man smiled at her patronisingly, “You think to stab me little girl?” Beside him Nethali giggled at the prospect and stared at Arabella with disdain. Arabella dropped her shoulders, as though in defeat and then moved quicker than a heartbeat – before even her emotions showed her intent – towards the man, kicking Nethali out of the way and moving behind Irik until her daggers were crossed against his throat. Nethali tossed her hair away from her face and looked up at Arabella and Irik, a scowl etched upon her lips. She raised her hand to aid Irik but he motioned for her to relax.